The Philosophers claimed that the world was spun into being.

Ascion didn’t care too much about what those long-dead old coots might have thought, but on that point, he would begrudgingly agree with them. With the way that alchemy worked, it was hard to argue against their logic.

He drew his cloak tighter around himself, obscuring his already lanky features from view under the shadows of night. Two glass flasks bulged out from within his pockets, each containing the singularly prized substance that made him as successful as he was in his chosen craft.

Today’s choice operation would be performed solo. A little bit riskier for the job itself, but it was starting to become difficult keeping his talent hidden from those he worked with. Even though he never stuck around with the same crew, word was starting to spread about the mysterious burglaries targeting alchemists in neighbouring cities.

Count Gloucester, his wife, and their two young children had left their estate twenty-two minutes, thirty-seven seconds ago. They were slated to return forty-seven minutes and twelve seconds later, based on his observations and shadowing of the minor noble over the past month.

Five servants were under his employ. One was out, having been granted leave to return to his former village. Two would be readying the Count’s room for his return. He wasn’t certain where the other two would be, since his form of Spinning didn’t grant any enhancements of the senses or heightened deductive abilities, but from his past experiences he would probably be able to at least get away safely in the worst-case scenario.

Worst-case was not what he was after, however. What he wanted above all else was whatever wealth he could pilfer from the noble family, with a close second being the mercury that a Weaver would undoubtedly possess.

And despite having checked that the flasks were safely in his pockets 2.832 seconds ago, his hands once more drifted toward them.

Yup, still there.

Exactly 3.239 seconds later, the servant peeked out through the main door of the mansion, taking a brief look around while Ascion ducked back behind the cover of the wall. He held his breath for a full 10.53 seconds, hearing the gate slam shut during that interval.

Time to focus. If he wanted to play it safe, he needed to complete his task within forty minutes.

Without a further moment’s pause, he reached under his cloak, uncorked the flask, and dipped a single finger in. For what he wanted to do now, he shouldn’t need too much mercury.

Immediately after the silver liquid made contact with his skin, lines appeared in his vision, reaching all around him, blending into the shadowed walls of the estate and out of view. Iridescent threads weaved in all directions, going this way and that, as the Great Net that linked all creation became visible to his eyes. There were far too many for him to count, even though Spinners only dealt with the part of the Net that joined those capable of sentient and intelligent thought. At this distance, and without direct line of sight, he couldn’t hope to track the servants still mulling about their tasks inside the estate.

He mentally tugged on the thread that led to the only part of his mind that he could access. Growing up as an orphaned street rat prior to joining his first crew, he didn’t know much about exactly what alchemy entailed, but he heard enough to know that Spinners were a pretty rare bunch among alchemists. And though he knew of Willsappers, Blinders, Torturers, and Hypnotists, he hadn’t heard of someone who could do what he was now doing.

His Spinning related to a sense of time. He had no idea exactly what he’d be characterised as, but Ascion toyed with the idea of Chronologist or Metronome.

And with whatever power so extoled by the alchemists that mercury was giving him, he knew he needed to make a move right now. His previous observations told him that the servant would patrol through each floor once, before making a second pass four minutes and twelve seconds later. His only infiltration window would be within the next two minutes, if he wanted to keep things safe.

With that, he rushed toward the gate, deftly climbing over it, his continued Spinning burning through the small drop of mercury as each movement of his hands and feet was executed with perfect coordination.

He increased the rate of consumption of his precious mercury. What he wanted to do next would be tough, but after six months of practice on other similar targets, he was confident that he could preserve his momentum to climb up a wall to the highest floor, open a window before the servant got there, and slide himself in.

Sprint. Leap off. Grip, pull, switch hands, push. Flip over, slip in.

Excellent. Right on schedule. The miniscule amount of mercury that had contacted his skin was burned away by then, and the Net disappeared from his sight.

He gave a brief glance at his surroundings. Count Gloucester was a second-generation alchemist, which meant that he didn’t have much in the way of privilege among the nobility. Still, though, his estate boasted marbled tiles and ornamental decorations on its walls. Fancy and reasonably valuable, but too bulky for him to steal and keep to his time. Other than gold, his true goals were alkahest and azoth in the unlikely event that the Count had any, or whatever mercury he could find to keep his present stock healthy.

Mercury for the mind, salt for the body, and sulfur for the soul. It was the fundamental principle of alchemy, one that everyone knew, alchemist or not.

Footsteps. He instinctively drew back, a hand clutched on his flask. A bit earlier than scheduled, but still perfectly within his margin of error. It was a pity that he’d have to consume this much of his mercury so soon, but hey, he’d find plenty more once he located Count Gloucester’s stash, right?

And, well – if he didn’t make full use of his Spinning right now, he’d be discovered in about… six seconds, give or take a few. He tipped the flask over, letting a generous amount of mercury settle and sink into his palm. Threads flared to life, but his focus was solely on the one connecting to the servant that was almost about to reach him.

Once more, he tugged. This time, however, it was not his own thread, and he was not acting to enhance his perception of time.

The thread flared gold, as mercury purged itself from existence far more rapidly than his previous use of it. Bit of a waste, but Ascion needed results here. The servant abruptly stilled, turned around, and went the opposite direction, hurrying down the stairs as he complained about forgetting to check if he’d watered the plants, despite having done that hours ago.

Beneath the hood of his cloak, Ascion grinned. It probably wasn’t the best idea to reuse a tactic from his previous burglaries, but he couldn’t argue with the results. If Count Gloucester wasn’t ruined by this upcoming theft, he should really reconsider keeping his servants to a schedule.

The coast was clear. All that was left was to make his way down, steal whatever valuables he could find, and keep himself set for at least another two months.

Ah, right. almost forgot.

Deliberately, he brought out a small paper sachet he had kept in his cloak, spilling its contents on the floor. A trace amount of salt, to make it seem like it had been a Shaper who had broken into the Gloucester estate rather than a Spinner. Having done the same with sulfur in his previous job, the rumours he heard going around were that the authorities hadn’t yet pinpointed the culprit behind the burglaries conducted over the past months.

And if he was ever caught, well: he’d have no chance in a straight up fight against any proper alchemist, but he was fairly certain he could evade capture so long as he had mercury on him. That shouldn’t be the case, though, since he’d only been targeting second or first generation alchemists' estates. In comparison to the real big dogs over in Azenar whose ancestry stretched to the days of Odmund the Wise, the people he was stealing from were nothing. From what he could tell, even the newly-minted Lord Caltrus from three months back had only been of the mid-albedo stage, at most.

Now that had been a real haul. A pity he’d had hired help for that job, but even then it had lasted him all the way till now.

Down the stairs in 12.82 seconds. From the way the nearby threads were moving, he knew that the first servant was making his rounds. He hid quietly behind the stairs – no need to waste more mercury. That stuff was expensive for any alchemist who wasn’t sponsored by the Crown, and he had no intention of making his way to the Branch Camps and being forced to fight in the war, just so that there was a chance that he could set up his own noble house and be robbed by someone like himself.

No, sir, that type of life was just not for him.

5.91 seconds later, he continued past the corridor, as the servant’s footsteps faded into the distance. Another bend, and he found what he was looking for.

He didn’t know why all the estates provided for alchemists newly raised to noble positions had the Azenar coat of arms etched onto doors like these ones, glazed with gold and silver as though offering any would-be burglars a clear sign to their alchemical laboratories. Possibly a reminder to the new-generations that their social standing was only due to the generosity of the Crown, and that in the grand scheme of things, they didn’t amount to much.

Whatever the reason was, Ascion wouldn’t complain. The prize awaited him.

He stepped in quickly, closing the door behind himself. Flasks of all shapes and sizes were placed on long wooden tables, metals, powders, and liquids of all sorts contained within them. Many were too bulky for him to use, or ones he didn’t recognise and likely of too precise a function for him to sell on the black market without arousing suspicion, but his eyes lit up as he found precisely what he was looking for.

Mercury. Jackpot. He was about to reach out to stuff his cloak with as many flasks as he could manage – the barrel of it was too bulky to steal, unfortunately – when he saw something else placed on an inactive alchemical burner. Unbidden, his heartbeat quickened with anticipation. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but…

Could it be…?

He dipped his finger into an open flask of mercury, and his excitement only grew.

On the burner lay a flask of a colourless liquid. To any mundane observer, it would have been dismissed as water.

To his perception of the Net empowered by the active effects of the substance, fine threads spread from all directions out of the liquid. They glowed brilliantly as though a rainbow, touching and linking all that he could see.

This man had a single flask of azoth. The Universal Solvent. That alone was worth more than the barrels of mercury he spotted. Had it not been for the continued need to remain subtle, he would have whistled in admiration. It was his second time seeing the substance, but it seemed that Count Gloucester had perhaps a bit more influence with the Crown than he’d thought.

His knowledge was limited to what virtually everyone in the Azenar Empire knew: progression of the alchemist’s prima materia went in the order of nigredo, albedo, citrinitas, rubedo, and at each stage, the potency of their alchemy increased. He didn’t know the finer details about alchemy, or what most of the strange equipment being laid out in front of him were.

What he did know, however, was that azoth mixed with salt, mercury, or sulfur would allow anyone with access to the Net to use powers they otherwise wouldn’t be capable of. Salt dissolved in azoth could allow even him, an unofficial Spinner not even of the nigredo stage, to punch as hard or sprint as fast as a Shaper could. Mixed with sulfur and any of the four Prime Metals, the resultant solution would let him hurl blasts of fire, cut with gusts of wind, launch chunks of earth or unleash a devastating torrent of water, feats normally reserved to Weavers. With enough of the substance, even a Mundane could eventually be raised into an alchemist.

Understandably, it was extremely valuable on the black market.

What he’d stolen from Lord Caltrus had only been half this amount, and that had been split five ways. With this, he could live comfortably for a year or so.

He reached out to the flask that was practically beckoning at him –

Wait.

Shouldn’t he take the mercury first?

Yes… that seemed like a good plan. If he took the mercury, he could use it to alter the form of his Weaving in conjunction with sulfur and the Prime Metals. Wouldn’t it be cool to launch waves of molten lava at enemies, or slice his targets with vacuum –

Something’s wrong.

He was not a Weaver. He didn’t rely on sulfur. He didn’t have the slightest clue as to how mercury related to Weaving. He knew that he was pressured for time, and that he had only about twenty to thirty minutes left, so why –

Twenty to thirty? He frowned. That was an extremely unprecise number, almost like how he had been before the day the Net made itself known to him.

The Net.

In one smooth motion, he reached into his cloak, uncorking and upending the entirety of his remaining flask of mercury onto his skin. Threads lit up around him, far more brightly than before –

Why do that? All he needed to do was to steal the mercury, take the azoth, sell it off and make himself set for –

No!

He stumbled, restraining his panic as best he could, feeling a genuine wave of fear work its way down his spine as he now recognised what was happening.

Shit!

“Impressive.”

Ascion located the person who spoke even before he heard the words, his phantom enemy’s own Spinning having sent the strings of the Net into a frenzy. The alchemist was entirely calm, dressed in a cloak with the emblem of the Azenar crest, hood raised.

“And here everyone else thought that we were just dealing with a Mundane.” He chuckled, seemingly not at all bothered by Ascion’s meagre attempts at fending off the mental intrusion. “Lucky me.”

A trap. They’d caught on to his thefts after all.

And he’d pissed them off enough that they devoted a resource like this to deal with him.

A Willsapper.